Clove's Story
by Catnip394
Summary: Read the Hunger Games from the point of view of the girl with the knives. Why did she volunteer for the Games? What were her feelings towards Cato? Was she really as fearless as she seemed? All of these will be answered, and more, in Clove's Story.
1. Chapter 1

They laughed at me.  
They were bigger than me, and stronger too. Muscles rippled in their arms, their eyes bright with anticipation. I was small. I was weak.

I tried to run, sprinting for the cover of the trees. But they were anticipating it.

The tallest, strongest of them all. His green eyes gleaming, the dappled sunlight giving him an almost surreal quality. His blond hair tousled, his expression calm as he stepped out from behind the large oak.

Fredrick.

"Maple," he said, coolly. I trembled, slowly stepping backwards. A twig snapped behind me, and I knew without looking that the others had me surrounded.

I slammed the door behind me as I entered our home. I call it a home only because "house" would be an exaggeration. A fresh bruise stained my forehead purple. The stench of alcohol, vomit and stale sweat clung to the air. My father, looking up as I entered, frowned.

"You're late," he complained, grouchily, ignoring the evident bruise. I said nothing. With my father, that's all you can do. Stay silent, and hope for a painless evening.

I put some rice on to boil. My father grunted.

"Rice again?" he grumbled.

"Maybe if you didn't spend all the money on alcohol, we could afford something different," I muttered, bitterly. His fist slammed into my cheek, and I cried out, biting back the tears.

I wished my mother were there I wished she were still alive. She knew how to deal with my father. But I guess that's why he snapped. He wasn't equipped to deal with her death. And I hated him for it. But I also hated myself for blaming him.

I still remembered her. Her blonde curls, her dark eyes, her ready smile. And her smell. She always smelled of cloves.

I wanted to forgive my father. I wanted to love him again.

But when the letter came, I knew I could never forgive him.

"What's this?" I asked, confused.

"What's what?" he demanded, sourly. I held up the letter, and, to my shock, his eyes filled with tears.

"Needed the money," he whispered, taking the letter with a trembling hand.

I didn't understand, then. I only understood three weeks later, when the Peacekeepers arrived.

He had signed me up to train with Fredrick and the others.

He had signed me up to live with them.

He had signed me up to learn to kill.

For a pocketful of gold, he had sold me. He had signed me up to be a career.


	2. Chapter 2

I still remember that day.

The day when my father, tears cutting through the layer of grime on his lined face, watched as they took me. Away to a new place. Away to a new life.

The academy was an imposing structure, much like the buildings of the Capitol itself. As we approached the doorway, the Peacekeepers tightened their grip on my arm.

I was lead through clean, airy passageways, to a large, well-lit hall. My eyes scanned the group of other soon-to-be careers. Fredrick stood with a handful of friends, laughing, relaxed, carelessly handsome. A group of girls, shiny-haired and bright-eyed, were avidly chatting on the other side of the room.

One caught my eye, and, painfully aware of my limp, greasy hair and bruised, dirty face, I tried for a friendly smile. To my surprise, her lips curved upwards- then twisted into a sneer. My mouth felt dry as I turned away, tears burning in my eyes.

A man walked into the room, called for silence. The two groups quietened down, and I hesitantly made my way over to join them. To my relief, except a few disgusted glances, no one openly objected to my joining them.

"In 7 years' time," began the man, quietly, "Two of you will enter the Hunger Games. At least one of you will die. Who that is, will depend on how well you listen to what I have to tell you. Rule one:" quick as a flash, he drew a knife from his belt, sending it slamming into the opposite wall. We turned to see the dagger lodged firmly between two panels. Hard, cold metal pressed against my neck, and I froze. "Never, let your enemy distract you," came his voice, from behind me. He removed his knife from my throat, and I let out the breath I had been subconsciously holding.

"The first thing you must do," said the man, slowly, "Is choose a new name. You are here to reinvent yourself; leave behind the person you once were. You," he points at a girl, "What is your name?"

She immediately opens her mouth to answer, but he shakes his head.

"Not your birth name. What name do you choose?"

The girl hesitated, running a hand through her honey-blonde, wavy hair. Her pale blue eyes were flickering, indecisive.

"Clara," she decided, suddenly. He nodded, moving on to the next. Soon, he came to Fredrick.

"Cato," said the boy, at once.

Cato. Unstoppable. Fearless. Cato.

And all too soon, I had to choose.

"So? What will it be?" asked the man, his intense gaze slightly unnerving. I gulped, aware of everyone's eyes on me.

Amber was a weak girl, greasy-haired, pale-faced, with a sullen expression and years' worth of faded bruises. I had to leave her behind. I had to be strong, beautiful, brave. Like my mother.

The warm smile. The sparkling eyes. The scent of cloves.

I chose a name which would always remind me of her. Her, and what I had to live for. What I had to fight for. What I had to become.

"Clove," I told him, firmly. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, a mere moment, I saw something in his eyes. Surely, surely not... recognition? And then it was gone, the moment had passed, and my classmates' attention was pulled back to the front of the hall.

"My name is Kieryan." said the man. I frowned.

"Your real name, or the name you chose?" I asked. His eyes met mine.

"The name I chose."

The years passed, and quiet young Amber faded with the dull of time. I washed and brushed my dark hair regularly, my childhood bruises faded, and a girl became a woman. My limbs became lean and muscled, thanks to the years of training. I aged beyond my years, a child forced to grow up too fast.

"Knife throwing," said Kieryan, one day well into my second year. The class perked up, slightly. "Today, we will learn knife throwing."

Handing the knife to Hania, a pretty, red-haired girl, he gestured towards the target.

"Throw it," he told her. She did.

It fell two metres short of the target. Crestfallen, she walked over and scooped up the knife, handing it back to Kieryan, who offered it to Clara. The class lined up behind her. Predictably, I was last.

Cato followed Clara, his knife narrowly missing the target. He ground his teeth in frustration, taking the knife and handing it to Dylan.

Eventually, it was my turn. So far, none of my classmates had managed to even touch the target. My hopes were not high.

Lilia threw the knife down at my feet. To the sneers and smothered laughs of my sceptical classmates, I bent down to take it.

Cato whispered something to Dylan, and he laughed, glancing at me. Hot anger surged up inside of me, my heart pounding in my chest. Without thinking, without looking, I turned and threw the knife.

It missed.

A bitter taste in my mouth. The taste of failure. My classmates jeered, and my cheeks burned. I walked over to the knife, grabbed it, and looked around the training centre. A dummy, suspended in midair by a single rope.

I took aim. I threw.

The knife missed the dummy.

But it hit my target. It hit the rope.

It severed it in two. The dummy slammed to the ground.

I walked out of the training centre, slamming the door behind me.


	3. Chapter 3

Kieryan found me, hours later, curled up on my narrow bed. My face was streaked with tears. I had ruined everything; any chances of the others' acceptance, or making my father proud, or even keeping my life. Because I knew what they did to failures. They kicked them out.

And they killed them.

He sat beside me, laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. I shook it off, frustrated. I was not weak. I would not cry. I wiped my tears away, forcing myself to look him in the eye.

"What's your name?" he asked, suddenly.

"Amber." I told him, automatically. He sighed.

"And this is why the others will not accept you. Look at yourself in the mirror."

I turned my head, observing my reflection. Dark hair, framing my face, down to my shoulders. Dark eyes, red from crying. Arched eyebrows and a wide forehead. A spattering of freckles on my nose, and a tanned complexion. My limbs lean and muscled from the many months of training.

Kieryan drew out a photo and handed it to me; my identity photo, from my first year. I remembered them taking these on the first day. We had to line up, and have our photos taken one by one, to be registered into the academy profiles.

The girl in the photo is weedy, narrow-faced, greasy-haired, underfed.

"Who is this girl?" asked Kieryan, slowly. I hesitated.

"Amber." I told him, eventually. He nodded, and pointed at the mirror.

"Who is that girl?" he asked, quietly. I looked at my reflection.

"Clove." I said, equally quietly. He turned to look at me.

"And which one are you? Which one do you want to be?"

The seconds dragged by. Amber or Clove? Sweet, innocent, damaged, scared Amber? Or strong, beautiful, deadly, cold Clove? Who was I? Who did I want to be? Was my name Amber or Clove?

"Clove." I whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

I barely remember the next day. The faces of my classmates are blurred streaks of colour, but I remember how I felt. I felt different. I felt _changed_. Because I was no longer Amber. I was Clove.

The other career students' attitudes towards me had changed. They no longer smirked and jeered. They now regarded me with... respect? Awe? Maybe even a little... fear?

We were led straight to the training centre. Kieryan glanced at me. I'm sure I saw him wink. And I soon discovered why.

"Today, I've organised a game." Kieryan told the class. The students perked up slightly.

He walked over to the knife-throwing station.

"A knife-throwing tournament," he told us, with a grin. Slowly, a smile spread across my face. My classmates looked at me, warily, and I walked over to the knives. Picking one, I turned to my class.

"Let's get started." I said, coolly.

There were 13 people in my class.

Hania and Elian were eliminated straight off, for missing the target 5 times in a row. Next, Cato took the knife. His first throw missed, and he stamped his foot, frustrated. He threw again, and narrowly missed. I could see the blood rushing to his head as he picked up the knife and sent it spinning towards the target.

It hit the outer ring. Satisfied, he threw again, hitting the middle ring, and again, hitting the outer ring once more. He was through to the next round.

Lucile missed the target completely, as did Freya. The pair joined Hania and Elian over the other side of the room. Four down.

Clara hit the outer ring once, the middle ring twice, and, on her fourth throw, the bullseye. Her fifth narrowly missed, but it was enough. She was good. She was very good.

Robin, a weedy, dark-haired boy, hit the outer ring once. Kieryan hesitated, then eliminated him. Dylan was next, hitting the middle ring three times; enough to put him through to the next round of the tournament. He joined Cato and Clara.

Three through, five eliminated. Five left.

Oak, a tall, brown-eyed boy, hit the middle ring twice; just enough to put him through to the next round. The force with which he threw the knives startled me; as though it were not just a game. As though it were a matter of life or death. As though the knives were flying towards someone he hated with all his heart.

Caelyn was next, his knives narrowly missing the target. His face red with frustration, he joined the group of eliminated students.

Four through, six eliminated. Three left.

Araya, a pretty girl with shiny brown hair, hit the bullseye three times, and the middle ring once. Her final knife dropped uselessly to the hard floor. She nervously joined Cato, Clara, Dylan and Oak. Their anger was evident in their faces; anger at this girl, for daring to beat them, for daring to outshine them, for daring to present a challenge. I gulped. Maybe I should just miss a few throws; be eliminated early, rather than face their wrath?

But I knew my pride wouldn't let me.

Diana hit the outer ring twice. Kieryan, after a few minutes' consideration, decided to eliminate her. To be honest, I think she was relieved.

Then it was my turn.

I took a deep breath in. I steadied my breathing. I took the knife from Kieryan with shaking hands. I could do this. I was Clove. I was unstoppable.

I threw the knife.

It missed.

My classmates jeered as Kieryan handed me the second knife. I was not Clove. I was Amber. Small, pale, weak. Yesterday was a fluke. I had no talent, no skill, nothing. I was nothing.

My second knife missed.

Kieryan handed me the third, his gaze hard and unwavering. The gleam of the metal was cruel, cold, evil. It held in its silvery glow a perverse beauty. Wrapping my hand tightly around the metal, a shiver ran up my arm. Power. I could kill him. I could kill them all.

My cold black eyes gazed around the room. I imagined the knife leaving my hand, flying straight towards Cato, wiping the smile off his face. In my hand, my uncaring hand, I held the power to do that.

I turned back to Kieryan. The edges of the knife began to blur. His eyes found mine.

"Clove." He said.

I stared at him. The sunlight on her hair, the smell of cloves.

I blinked, and turned to the target.

My knife was already hilt deep in the centre. I stared at it, then glanced at my hand. My classmates were looking surprised, even slightly impressed.

"Good throw," said Kieryan, his eyebrows raised. I hadn't even noticed it leave my hand.

I took the fourth, and instinctively threw it as I turned. It joined the third, in the centre of the target. Two seconds later, three knives were hilt deep in the target. A smile tugged at my lips.

"Cato, Clara, Dylan, Oak, Araya and Clove are through to the next round." Kieryan said, flashing me a quick grin, while Cato, Clara and Dylan glared at my back.

He beckoned, and we followed him over to the other side of the room, where targets swung gently from ropes.

"You have 3 tries. You must hit the target at least twice to reach the finals." Kieryan told us.

Cato went first, hitting 2 of the 3 targets. Clara missed twice; she ground her teeth in frustration and joined the group of eliminated students. Dylan narrowly missed all three, and walked over to join Clara, as did Oak.

Araya stepped forward, and threw the knife. She hit the first target, and the second. Her knife sank into the third, and she nervously joined Cato.

I took the first knife, and threw it hopefully. It missed. I blinked.

With a moving target, I realised, you have to aim for where the target will be when the knife reaches it, not where it is when you let the knife go. More carefully this time, I threw my second knife, aiming to the right of the target.

It sank hilt deep into the wood.

Grinning, I applied the same technique to the third knife, hitting the target a second time.

It was between me, Cato and Araya.

Kieryan produced a bag of tennis balls. He lined the three of us up, and threw the first ball.

As one, we threw our knives.

Before we knew what was happening, the ball was pinned to the opposite wall.

Kieryan walked over to it, and pulled out the ornately carved knife, examining the hilt. The second knife lay on the floor at his feet, and the third was embedded in the wall, a few feet to the left.

"Araya's," he announced, holding up the first. He collected the knives and handed us our knives.

I hit the second, and Araya hit the third. Cato hit the next two. I hit two, then Araya hit another. Cato hit the ninth, leaving it at three all, with only one knife left.

My palms were sweating, for this was more than a question of pride. It was a chance to prove myself, a chance to be taken seriously and maybe even a little feared. The thought sent shivers up my spine.

As though in slow motion,,our three knives flew towards the target. Mine collided with Cato's, knocking it away from the ball. Araya's pierced the ball, and mine and Cato's hit the ground with a clang of finality.

Araya had won. But I knew that Cato and the others would not let her get away with this.

And I was right.


	5. Chapter 5

The other students filed out of the room, Cato, Clara and Dylan's faces dark with anger. Araya trembled slightly. She, like me, knew that she had done something unforgivable.

She had beaten them.

"Clove?" called Kieryan, as the door slammed shut behind Cato. I paused, my hand on the door handle.

"Yes?" I prompted, after a few moments of silence. He walked over to me, using his fingertips to tilt my head up towards him.

"You look so much like her," he whispered. To my shock, I noticed that his eyes were moist.

"Who?" I asked, confused.

"Your mother."

I stared at him, shocked.

'You knew... You knew my mother?"

"Clove, do you know how she died?"

"I was too young. I was 2 years old when she died. Whenever I tried to talk to dad about it, he'd have a breakdown." I replied. Then I bit my lip. I had told him too much already.

"She was 16 when she became pregnant with you, Clove. Young, I know, but people die so young these days." He sighed, "Lack of food, lack of clean water..." he trailed off.

"Okay... So?"

"Which means that she was 18 when she died."

"What are you trying to say?" I asked him.

"Clove... Your mother died in the Hunger Games. The Games that I won."

I stared at him, lost for words for the first time in as long as I could remember.


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you mean?" I whispered, numbly. He sighed, and massaged his forehead with a shaking hand.

"Your mother was a career. So was your father. They fell in love during their time at the academy. It was difficult for me... Your father was my best friend. But everyone could see that they were perfect for one another.  
Your mother, Magnolia, was very beautiful. She had blonde curls down to her waist, your dark eyes and a beautiful smile. She was kind and strong and clever. And when she threw her knives, they never missed.  
When she was 16, she had you. She cursed herself for it; she knew what danger she was placing you in.  
When we were 18, it was time for the Reaping. The volunteers are picked due to their ranking in the academy's tests. The rest are killed. It's good motivation to rank well and volunteer for the games.  
I wanted you to grow up with both your parents against the odds."

"But that's impossible," I objected, quietly.

"Not impossible," he told me, shaking his head, "We realised that if one of your parents was entered into the Hunger Games, the Academy would be forced to spare the other to take care of you."

"So you volunteered to compete against my mother?" I asked, slowly.

"No. Not to compete against her."

"Why, then?"

"To protect her."

I fell silent, mixed emotions coursing through my mind.

"Why? Why did you want to let her win?"

"Because I loved her."

I stared at him, my eyes wide, and he nodded, his eyes shining with tears.

"So what happened?" I said, hardly daring to listen to the answer.

"We were the favourites to win." Kieryan told me, "We were fast and strong, young and attractive. Everyone loved us.  
We were, of course, in the career group. Until we reached the final eight.  
The District 1 girl and the District 4 boy were already dead. We decided that it was time to leave the career group. Your mother killed the district 1 boy with a well-aimed knife to the back, and the district 4 girl fled."

"Who else was left?" I whispered.

"The District 11 girl, the District 12 boy, and the two tributes from 7." He said, ticking them off his fingers.

"So what happened next?"

"We ambushed the District 7 camp, and killed both of them. Then Caesar announced a feast.  
We were starving; the arena was a wasteland. And we reasoned that we were the only pair left, so our chances of escaping with food were high.  
I wanted to go alone. But your mother insisted on coming.  
We headed for the Cornucopia, and heard two canon shots. When we arrived, the District 4 girl was there, the tributes from 11 and 12 lay dead at her feet.  
I knew this was my chance. I headed towards her, and waited for her to throw her knife before throwing mine. I hoped that we would kill one another and your mother would live."

"But it didn't work out that way did it?" I murmured, quietly, tears welling up in my eyes, "Because she died. And you lived."

"She threw herself in front of me," Kieryan told me, his eyes haunted. "She told me that she'd worked out our plan to save her, but she wasn't going to let me die for her. Because..."

"Because?" I prompted, my voice breaking.

"Because she loved me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Before I start this chapter, I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed this story :') It's real motivation to keep writing. So thank you so much c:**

My head spinning, I absorbed this information, staring at Kieryan numbly.

"She... She loved you?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"Yes," Kieryan replied, simply.

"She must... She must have loved you a lot, to die for you when her boyfriend and baby girl were waiting for her at home." I whispered.

"She must have," he agreed, sadly. And only then did a tear finally trickle down his cheek.

"Kieryan?" I asked, hesitantly.

"Yes, Amber?"

"Why did you tell me all this? What was the point?"

"The point? The point was that I promised I'd protect you. That was my last promise to her, the first and last thing she ever asked of me. When I came back, your father had gone mad after watching your mother die. I wanted to take you off his hands, but he wouldn't have it. He took off with you. I had failed.  
But then, a year or so ago, a young girl entered the academy. She reminded me of someone, but I couldn't place her. I decided it was her eyes. They were hauntingly familiar.  
Then she chose a name; the name was Clove. That's when I realised who you were.  
Your mother always smelt of cloves, you know."

"I know," I murmured, sadly.

"I had been given another chance to fulfil my promise; another chance to save you. And I'm going to take it. You _will_ win the Hunger Games. I promise."

"But what if I'm not strong enough?"

"You are."

We stood in silence, until I sighed and looked him in the eye.

"One last question, Kieryan?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you just call me Amber? My name is Clove."

And with that, I left the room. I didn't look back.

As I approached the girls' dormitory, Dylan and Cato shot past me, dashing in the opposite direction, towards the boys' quarters. Running to the end of the corridor, I saw Clara whip around the corner, her breathing heavy. A door slammed, and I cautiously crept around the next corner.

Araya lay on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

"Clove?" she murmured, tears mingling with the sweat and blood coating her face. I blinked away the tears, kneeling down beside her.

"Who did this to you?" I whispered, horrified. But I already knew the answer.

"They were angry with me," she told me, softly, a moan escaping her lips. I took her hand in mine. "I beat them."

"You're safe now," I lied, comfortingly. She smiled wistfully.

"I'm not. I'm dying, Clove." She told me, tears falling thick and fast.

"You're not dying. I'm going to go and get Kieryan, okay?" I told her, keeping my tone calm, while inside I panicked. Because honestly? I knew she was right. They had killed her.

"Don't leave me." She sobbed. I hesitated, then nodded. It was too late. By the time I found Kieryan, Araya would be dead. The least I could do was ensure she didn't die alone.

I pushed the hair back from her forehead, gently stroking her hair with my free hand. She moaned in pain, as the blood continued to flow.

"My name isn't Araya," she told me, desperately, "It's Sara."

"You beat them, Sara. You were better than them. And I won't let them get away with this." Was all I said.

"Promise?" Sara clung to my hand.

"I promise." I told her, as her grip loosened and the light left her eyes. And only then did I let the tears flow. Because Sara didn't deserve to die, not now, not today. None of us did. But thanks to the Capitol and the cruel Games they played with our lives, the happy life she deserved was torn away from her. And it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

I let out a moan, an animal sound, as hot tears soaked my cheeks.

Sara, sweet, innocent Sara, was gone forever.

And I knew that Amber was too. Because I would fight for her. I would not let Sara's death go unavenged, or Kieryan's promise go unfulfilled.

Because in that moment, I knew that I had a tool, essential to winning the Hunger Games. Something I didn't have before.

Something to fight for.


	8. Chapter 8

I could never forget that night.

The night, well into my second year at the academy, when I learned the truth about my parents. About myself. About Kieryan. The night when I held a dying girl's hand until she fell asleep, never to awaken again. The night when I finally realised that II couldn't give up. I couldn't let them win.

The night when I decided to_ fight_.

I'm nearing the end of my seventh year at the academy, now. That night was a long time ago, but it's still the reason I get up every morning.

I honestly can't remember the next day; I just remember being shaken awake, curled protectively around Sara's body, and gently lead to the sickbay. I think they questioned me about Sara's death, gave Cato, Clara and Dylan a 'harsh' punishment (though, in my opinion, no punishment is harsh enough to be traded for an innocent girl's life), then left me a few days to recover from the trauma.

Sara's body was sent to her family to be buried.

I'm not ashamed to admit that seeing her body, so tiny in death, made tears flow down my cheeks.

I'm going to pick up the story from near the end of my fourth year, as my third was fairly uneventful.

One morning, at the training centre, Kieryan made an announcement.

"At the end of your fourth year, you will be tested on what you have learned at the academy, and ranked. The bottom five will be cut. Only the very best may continue their training for the final three years."

The class was so silent, you could have heard a pin drop.

"What will happen to those who are cut?" asked Hania, in a trembling voice.

"They will be sent to the Capitol. They are always short of avoxes." Kieryan told us, darkly.

My throat was dry, my heart pounding in my chest. Becoming an avox; having one's tongue cut out then becoming a slave to the capitol's citizens, is a fate worse than death.

night, I heard sobs coming from the bed next to mine. With only the slightest hesitation, I slipped out of bed, and sat down on the end of hers.

"Hania?" I said, quietly. She stifled her sobs.

"Who is it?" she mumbled.

"Clove," I replied, softly, "What's up?"

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, "I'm not strong like you, or Clara. I have no chance. I'm going to become an avox."

"You can do it, Hania. You can fight. Please don't give up. Just try; for me, even if you can't do it for yourself. Okay?"

"Okay," Hania whispered.

That "okay" was a lie. Hania was not okay. Nothing was okay, for any of us.

And the next morning, Hania was dead. She had ended her own life with a length of rope. And, I couldn't help thinking, I could have stopped her. I shouldn't have believed her whispered promise of "okay". I could have done something, anything.

But it was too late.

Hania was dead.

And I had even more motivation to fight.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hi c:**_  
_**So a couple of people have complained that the chapters are too short: I agree that they could be longer, but they're short for several reasons:**_  
_**1) If I try to write for too long at a time, I get writers' block.**_  
_**2) I don't have time to spend ages on here, as I'm pretty busy :/ So I come on when I have the chance and update in smaller parts more often, rather than occasionally uploading longer chapters.**_  
_**3) I prefer to write in small chapters because I find, when reading fanfics, I lose interest if the chapters are too long. **_  
_**So yep, basically I can't/won't make the chapters any longer. So if you don't like it, don't read my fanfics xD**_  
_**Yours sincerely,**_  
_**Catnip394**_

"Caelyn?" called Kieryan, on the day of the tests.

"Present," replied Caelyn. Kieryan marked a small cross by his name.

"Cato?"

"Present," Cato answered, confidently.

"Clara?" he said, next.

"Present," came Clara's cool voice.

"Clove?" he called, marking a cross by Clara's name.

"Present," I said, calmly, though inside I was shaking.

"Diana?"

"Present."

"Dylan?"

"Present."

"Elian?"

"Present."

"Freya?"

"Present."

"Lucile?"

"Present."

"Oak?"

"Present."

"And finally, Robin?"

"Present."

"That's everyone, then," Kieryan said, putting down the list. "We have two examiners, so two students can be tested at a time. Caelyn and Cato, please follow me. The rest of you, stay here.

Kieryan lead the two boys away, and we sat on plastic chairs and simply waited. Freya and Lucile chatted quietly. Clara sat close to Dylan; very close. Dylan put his arm around her shoulders, whispered something into her hair. She glanced at me and giggled.

I noticed Oak staring at me, and frowned at him, quizzically. He shrugged, and looked away. His eyes were brown; a deep, chocolate brown. I frowned slightly. Why did I notice his eye colour? Why did I care?

And why was he staring at me?

We waited in the room for an hour or so, until Kieryan arrived. Caelyn and Cato weren't with him; he explained that they were waiting in a seperate room, as it would give us an unfair advantage if they were to tell us what would be expected of us in the tests.

"Clara and Clove, please follow me."

We followed him through the corridors of the academy. After about 10 minutes, he stopped, motioning towards 2 identical doors.

"Clara," he pointed towards the left door, "Clove," he pointed towards the right door.

"Good luck," Clara told me, smirking slightly. I smiled back sarcastically, knowing she expected me to fail, and headed on through the right doorway.

I found myself in a large hall, three stern-faced examiners seated at the far end.

"Clove," they greeted me, in unison.

The examinations began.

First, they quizzed me on survival skills. I was asked to start a fire with a tinder and flint, name several edible plants from sketches, tie various different knots.

Then they gave me a bow and arrow, and I groaned inwardly. My first arrow missed the target. My second hit it and fell, and the final stuck in the outer ring. I was handed a sword, which I used to feebly decapitate the dummy. Fearing that I had destroyed my chances, my palms were sweating as I picked up the knives.

My first knife hit the bullseye. Relieved, I relaxed as I threw the second. It clattered to the ground.

The examiners were looking at one another, scribbling in their notebooks, shaking their heads. Desperate, I racked my brains for something I could do to impress them. My last chance to escape being an avox.

I ran over to a crate of tennis balls, as my minutes ticked away. Taking a handful, I crossed the hall, handing them to the puzzled examiners.

Choosing seven knives, I said "Throw them."

One of the examiners shrugged and threw one, and my knife left my hand, pinning the ball to the wall.

They raised their eyebrows, and each threw 2 of the remaining balls.

My hand was a blur as I threw the six knives. As the buzzer sounded to signify the end of my time, the knives pierced the 6 balls and pinned them to the wall with the first.

I smiled and walk out.

The next day, Kieryan told us how we had ranked:

Cato

Dylan

Clara

Clove

Oak

Caelyn

Robin

Elian

Freya

Diana

Lucile

I was fourth. I was safe.

Robin, Elian, Freya, Diana and Lucile were taken away. We never saw them again.

Well, I saw one of them again.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. That wasn't for a few years.

I'll get to that.


	10. Chapter 10

My fifth year at the academy began. It felt strange, being only 6. I shared a dormitory with only Clara, and we began to develop a grudging respect for one another. Being 16 now, and therefore more mature, we refrained from the childish insults and pranks. We still hated one another, of course. But quietly.

I caught Oak looking at me several times during the next couple of months, until one evening, when the others had left, he ambushed me outside the training room.

"Wha-" I started to say, but he stopped me by pressing his lips against mine. We stood there for several minutes before breaking apart, breathlessly.

From that night onwards, Oak and I spent most of our free time together. Oak was gentle, kind, strong, sweet. I guess I kinda fell for him.

He opened up to me. He admitted that his childhood had been less than happy, and that when he fought, he imagined every obstacle, every target, every dummy, every person to be his uncle.

What I couldn't fail to notice, though, was Cato's jealousy. I suppose I assumed he was jealous of Dylan, for Clara and Dylan's relationship was still going strong. I assumed he was in love with Clara, with her blonde hair and pale blue eyes, her perfect skin and muscled limbs. She was beautiful, to be honest.

My fifth and sixth years at the university were my happiest. Until the end of my sixth.

Only the top two girls and top two boys progress into their seventh year. Clara and I were both safe, having no one to compete with.

Oak pressed his lips against my forehead, holding me close.

"Come back. Please. For me." I whispered.

"I will. I promise." Oak told me.

The four boys were taken into a room, and Clara and I were left to wonder which of the four would emerge alive.

The answer was, all four.

The four boys returned to the training room, where Clara and I were practising our knife-throwing. Clara, noticing them first, screamed and ran at Dylan, who lifted her up and spun her round, their lips pressed together.

I walked towards Oak, tears in my eyes, and stretched out a hand. I didn't know how, I didn't know why, but all four boys had survived. He took it, pulling me gently towards him, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders.

"I love you." He murmured. I stared at him, my eyes widening, for no one had ever said that to me before.

"I-" I started to say, as Kieryan walked in, flanked by 6 Peacekeepers.

"I have your results." He told us, with a sigh.

"I- I thought they all survived? I thought they were all coming back?" I cried, turning to Oak.

"No, Clove." Oak said, quietly, "We just haven't got the results yet."

Kieryan's gaze was troubled, as he unfolded the slip of paper.

"In fourth place..." He began.

My mouth was dry, my palms sweating.

"Caelyn."

Two peacekeepers came forward, each taking one of his arms, dragging him away, kicking and struggling. A fist to the head stopped his struggling, and they took his limp body out of the training room.

Time seemed to slow down.

Cato, Dylan or Oak?

Oak, Cato or Dylan?

Which one would be dragged away, sent back to their family in a cold, wooden box?

Kieryan's eyes found mine. They were full of regret, sympathy, pain. They said "I'm sorry." They said "There's nothing I can do."

"In third place... Oak."

My heart was heavy with the weight of yet another broken promise.


End file.
